


Everybody' Doin' Their Time

by celestialnavigation



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialnavigation/pseuds/celestialnavigation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt knows exactly who she is. Even in the nerd clique she's near the bottom of the heap, she and her only friend Berry the Fairy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody' Doin' Their Time

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea of Burt and Carole going to the same high school when they were teenagers and it kind of ate my brain until this story came out. Title is from the GNR song "Paradise City."

Burt scuffs one sneaker against the floor as he waits outside the library. He looks around, hoping to god nobody on the team catches him near Nerd Central. It's not his choice, not that his buddies will care. He's failing English and his teacher told him to get a tutor and bring his grade up to a C or she'd be having a conference with his mom. One session in the guidance office and here he is, waiting to see which loser he'll have to pretend to be nice to for a few weeks just so he can escape his mom's disappointing look.

He feels a tap on his shoulder.

"Hi, Burt Hummel?"

He turns and inwardly groans but forces a neutral look on his face. "You my tutor?"

She nods. "Carole Nichols," she introduces.

Burt knows exactly who she is. Even in the nerd clique she's near the bottom of the heap, she and her only friend Berry the Fairy. Carole could probably climb higher on the social ladder, even with her frizzy hair, homemade clothes, and propensity for ruining the curve, but her association with Stephen Berry has marked her.

By the way she's studying him with narrowed eyes, Burt is sure she knows him too, knows he's one of the ringleaders behind all the pranks - the dog shit in her locker, the late night heavy breathing phone calls to her house followed by hysterical laughter and cries of "like anyone would want to fuck you, freak!", that one time last semester they'd stolen her clothes during gym and she'd had to go to classes the rest of the day in her sweaty, too-small uniform. He feels a slight pang in his chest as he remembers how red her eyes were that day but he shrugs it off. "Yeah, hey. I gotta get to practice in an hour. Can we get on with it?"

She looks at him for a few seconds longer then mirrors his shrug. "Sure," she says. "Follow me."

Burt trails behind her into the library, thinking that perhaps having his mom come in would've been the less painful option.

* * *

Burt still hates poetry but he thinks he's getting the hang of it, at least enough to pass his midterm. Some of it still makes no sense even after Carole patiently explains about metaphors for the sixth time. But some of it is kind of cool. He really likes that Dylan Thomas guy.

Even the weird stuff has started to make more sense. He doesn't get _why_ these guys couldn't just say stuff plainly but Carole quizzes him frequently enough that he feels it's okay to not know the why as long as he knows the what well enough to bullshit.

Carole tells him that poetry isn't meant to be read but to be heard aloud. She makes him recite one of the poems they're studying but his tongue gets tangled so badly he gets frustrated and shoves away from the table. "I'm not doing this shit," he snaps. "It's stupid and it's really gay."

She presses her lips tightly together but nods. "Okay. I think we've done enough today."

He stalks out of the library, wondering when Carole's disappointment in him started to affect him as much as his mom's did.

The next time they meet Carole has Burt close his eyes and she reads poetry to him. He really likes the sound of her voice, he discovers.

* * *

"Why do you hang out with Berry the Fairy?"

"Don't call him that," Carole says mildly, flipping to the right chapter in her textbook.

"But he is a fag, right?" Burt presses. "I mean, the way he swishes around here...and no guy should wear that much pink."

"Don't call him that either," she says, her voice sharp this time. "I don't know if he is. He's never said."

"You still haven't said why you hang out with him."

Carole brushes her hair out of her face and pins him with her gaze. Burt wonders when he started noticing how green her eyes are. "I hang out with him because we're friends. We're friends because he's really nice and we have fun together. It's not that complicated."

Burt shakes his head. "Yeah but...you're not that bad. You could be more popular if you ditched that freak."

She stares at him for a long time. "Why do you care?" she asks softly.

He looks away, feeling his face redden. "I don't," he mutters.

* * *

"Your hair's different," he observes right after she sits down across from him.

It does. Usually it looks like she barely passed a brush over it but today it's framing her face in loose, smooth curls.

She pats it self-consciously and flushes. "My mom got me a new conditioner. And I woke up early this morning. I thought I'd play around with her curling iron."

He studies her before replying, "It looks pretty."

He pretends that her pleased smile doesn't make his stomach twist.

* * *

"...Are you humming 'Welcome to the Jungle'?"

Burt stops and looks around guiltily, waiting for the librarian to leap out and shush him. "Was I doing that out loud?"

Carole smirks. "You were."

"Shit, sorry. It's just stuck in my head."

"Well, if you have to get a song stuck in your head at least it's a great one."

He blinks. "You like Guns N' Roses?"

"They're only the most amazing band ever," she says in an excited whisper. "I listen to _Appetite for Destruction_ , like, every day."

"I don't know about that, I'm usually more of a Beatles guy, but they're pretty fucking rad." He looks at her and tilts his head. "I would've pegged you for more of a Madonna girl."

"Madonna is a genius and a trailblazer," Carole replies primly, then smiles. "I love her but no, I am definitely a rock girl. I loved the Beatles, too. And The Who, Journey, Peter Frampton, Queen, Aerosmith. Stuff like that is the best. That's real music."

Burt is stunned and, if he's being honest, a little turned on. "Yeah," he says dumbly.

"I don't believe it," Carole says, still smiling. "Burt Hummel and I actually have something in common."

"Yeah," he says again and if he sounds a little dazed Carole kindly ignores it.

* * *

"I need to get out of here," Burt declares.

Carole looks startled. "But you're doing fine. We just have a few more stanzas to get through."

"No, that's not it. Carole, it's March and it's almost eighty degrees outside. Do you really want to study in this dusty old library?"

She thinks about it. "What did you have in mind?"

He grins. "The lake."

Carole starts gathering up her supplies. "Fine, but we're going to finish the assignment when we get there."

They take his truck after he promises to drop her off at her house on his way home. He backs into a space overlooking the water and they climb into the bed of the truck, backs against the storage locker. Despite the distracting view the work goes quickly and Burt tries hard to concentrate, realizing he likes the way Carole smiles at him when he gets an answer correct.

After they finish they sit quietly and watch the afternoon sun turn the water to gold. "It's too cold now," Burt says, "but I can't wait until I can start going swimming again."

"You like to swim?" Carole asks curiously.

"Yeah. I wish McKinley had a pool and a swim team. I'd do that instead of football."

She looks at him and he thinks she's trying to picture him without the bulk that football has put on his frame, with the lean build of a swimmer instead. She looks away and says, "I don't know how to swim."

"Really?"

"Really. I...it's just me and my mom," she explains. "She doesn't know how to swim either. She never learned and we can't afford lessons." She shrugs but Burt can tell she's embarrassed.

"I'll teach you," he blurts without thinking.

Carole cocks an eyebrow. "You'll teach me how to swim?"

He nods enthusiastically and grabs her hand. "Yeah! This summer. The lake will be warm enough and it's really easy. You'll do great."

She glances down at where he's clutching her hand and gives him an unreadable look. "You want to spend time during your summer teaching me how to swim," she says disbelievingly. "You want to see me outside of school, outside of tutoring."

He blushes but doesn't look away. Her eyes are so green and he feels a little bit like he's the one learning how to swim. "I...yeah," he says softly. "I do." Impulsively, he leans forward and kisses her.

It's a brief kiss, just the barest brush of his lips against hers. He pulls back and sees her staring in wonder at him. Her free hand moves up to touch her lips and he pulls it away so he can kiss her again. It's longer this time, and deeper, and he releases one of her hands so he can run his fingers through her soft hair and cup the back of her head. Her mouth is sweet and pliant against his and she makes a tiny hum of contentment as she kisses him back, at first hesitantly and then with more confidence.

Burt doesn't know how long they kiss but when they finally pull back, breathless and lips tingling, the sun has moved behind the trees and the water is a dark blue. He's still clutching her other hand and he switches position so he can thread his fingers through hers. They settle back against the locker and Carole leans her head to rest on his shoulder.

"So, this summer. We'll go swimming."

"Yeah," she murmurs in agreement. "That sounds really nice."

* * *

It's Monday and Burt hasn't talked to Carole since Friday afternoon. He went to a party that night and helped out in his dad's garage all day Saturday. By the time he was done with church and Sunday dinner he had to finish his homework and he went to bed Sunday night telling himself it was too late to call her.

He walks into school with Russell Fabray and Judy Worthington, joking with them about the crazy stuff they'd done at Friday night's party at Russell's house. He's distracted by a story Judy is telling about one of her fellow Cheerios vomiting on Russell's mom's favorite pair of shoes so when he spots Carole in front of his locker it's too late to do anything.

"Ugh," Judy says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "What is _that_ doing there? You're going to have to delouse your locker, Burt."

Russell laughs appreciatively at Judy's quip. "Seriously, Hummel. She's getting Eau de Loser all over your stuff."

Carole hears their approach and looks up, wary. When she sees Burt she relaxes minutely and a small smile forms on her face. "Hi, Burt," she says shyly.

"'Hi, Burt'? How cute!" Judy exclaims snidely. "It thinks it can talk to you. Are you lost? You need to make like Michael Jackson and beat it."

Carole ignores Judy and Russell, who is cackling. Her eyes never leave Burt's. He looks at her for a long moment, then at Judy and Russell, then at Carole again. She gazes at him searchingly, that small smile still on her face. He opens his mouth to return her greeting, maybe take her hand. He thinks about how dumbstruck Russell and Judy will look, how those dumbstruck looks will turn to sneers, how it will take less than thirty minutes before the entire school knows one of the most popular guys in the junior class willingly talked to, willingly _touched_ , one of the untouchables.

He thinks about all of that and, heart pounding, he opens his mouth to smile back and tell her hello. One simple word that will change everything. What actually comes out is three words: "Get lost, freak."

He looks away, staring at the floor, but not before he sees Carole recoil like he slapped her. If she says anything he misses it, buried under Russell and Judy's laughter and the roaring of blood in his ears. When he looks up again she's gone and he stands there looking at where she stood, his face hot with shame.

* * *

Burt fails his poetry midterm and he has to repeat his English class over summer school. His mom's disappointment is nothing compared to the look Carole gave him that day in the hall.

He shares one class with her senior year but they never talk again. Sometimes he sees her at her locker or walking to the bus and he wants to run over, grab her hand and apologize until she forgives him. He never does.

* * *

Burt sees Carole again a year and a half after graduation. He's in the diner across from the junior college campus, killing some time before his next class starts. He's gazing out the window, not really looking at anything, when he sees her walking down the sidewalk across the street. Her hair's tied back with a green ribbon and Burt can see how widely she's smiling.

She looks up at her companion, a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair, and Burt can see her laugh at something he's saying. The man's arm wraps around her shoulders and she presses into his side. She looks happy, really happy, and Burt can't decide if he hates that man or himself more.

"Mister? Hey, mister, I've got other tables to take care of. Are you going to order something or what?"

Startled, Burt looks away from the window and sees the waitress tapping her pen impatiently against her order pad. She's about his age with thick dark auburn hair, a wide mouth and blue eyes that seemingly take up half her face. Those eyes are currently glaring at him. "Sorry," he says. "I...sorry," he repeats.

"Yeah, well, I don't have all day. What'll you have?"

He laughs. "Aren't you supposed to please the customer?"

She shrugs. "Whatever. I have no patience for idiots or people who waste my time."

"Don't you need those skills to be a waitress?"

"Probably. It could explain why I was fired from my last four jobs." She grins cheekily.

Burt laughs again. "That's a safe bet. I'll just have coffee. And I'll make you a deal: you don't spit in it and I'll leave a good tip."

Now she laughs and Burt likes the warm, rich sound of it. "You've got yourself a bargain, Mr..."

"Hummel," he supplies. "Burt."

"Nice to meet you, Burt Hummel," she replies, her blue eyes sparkling. "I'm Elizabeth."


End file.
